


The Way of Rivers to the Sea

by tigress



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, Durin Family Feels, Gen, Gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigress/pseuds/tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three gifts that Dis gave to her brother and sons, and the meaning behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way of Rivers to the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink meme prompt. Also, given that Tolkien’s dwarfish names are mostly of Norse origins, it’s firmly lodged into my head-canon that Dis’ full name is actually Sigdis, which roughly means ‘victorious lady’. Hence the thing in part two.

**i. growing pains**

She is thirty when their father puts a sword in her hand. Not the wooden one used in training, but a blade, small enough that she can swing it, real enough that she can draw blood. 

Dis is a Durin through and through, sharp and quick-tempered, stubborn, difficult but inherently good. She swings her sword with too much heart and too little skill, and chases her eldest brother through the halls of Erebor. Thorin parries easily, and each hit that fails to land adds to her mounting frustration. It is all a game to him, her king-to-be brother. Except one day she catches him off guard and cuts deeply into his left arm when he raises it to protect his head. 

There is blood, so much of it, more than Dis has ever seen. But in the end it looks worse than it is, and the wound is cleaned and bandaged without fuss. By then, she has disappeared somewhere and it takes Thorin half a day to find her, huddled behind a pillar in the armoury, the sword thrown away.

He hugs her tightly and lets her cry until her tears soak through his shirt. 

‘I’m sorry, Khazash-Tor,’ she sobs.

‘I am too,’ Thorin says. ‘I should not have let my guard down with you.’

The wound heals without difficulty, but leaves a scar – a thin, discoloured line, running from wrist to elbow. 

Thorin carries it with pride. 

 

**ii. don’t worry so much about livelihood**

Their people set such great store by words. For instance, Fili learns, his mother’s name is victory. A Durin princess who has taken up washing and mending for the wives of men so that her eldest can spend time learning his letters. 

Fili is diligent, though in truth he does better with training swords than books. He enjoys Mr. Dwalin’s company, because Mr. Dwalin does not worry that Fili is hurt every time he stumbles and falls during their sparring, teaches him colourful curses out of his mother’s earshot and once proves he is not above starting a shoving match that sends them both tumbling into a muddy pond.

They face the inevitable onslaught together, dripping water and trying not to grin while Dis throws her hands up and yells at them. Durin’s beard, have I three infants in my care, or are you incapable of going half a mile without ruining your clothes? There will be more washing, Fili realizes, and suddenly he is ashamed. His mother’s hands are red and raw at the end of every day, but she is rarely in a sour mood. Fili wonders what it must cost her, and thinks about her name. 

One day Uncle Thorin comes to visit and gives his sister a block of silver, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. Fili does not understand her excitement until Mr. Dwalin explains that Dis used to have a great fondness, if not extraordinary talent, for making jewellery. And true enough, she has the small block cut into sheets, borrows a set of tools from somewhere and works late into the night. 

On Fili’s next birthday, when his father braids his hair for the first time, she gives him a set of silver clasps, apologizing that the crafting is not particularly fine. Fili cannot find words, though their people set such great store by them. Instead he hugs her tightly, with shame and gratitude, and hopes she understands.

 

**iii. the countenance of the sun**

Kili is born too early and too small. He gets sick too easily and cries too much, the exhausted, inconsolable cry of a child who does not understand why he has to suffer. 

And so his mother gives him sleepless, watchful nights and the lines of worry that mark her lovely face. She gives him prayers, to Mahal and her forefathers, to her dead and her living. She says, watch over my son. She says, let him live. 

Kili is five when he begins to walk by himself, later than most, unsure and stumbling, falling sometimes but always, always getting up. Another year passes before he begins to speak. By then he is a sweet and cheerful child, the shadows of his early life fallen away. He runs after Fili everywhere and begs his father to take him out to market. He climbs into his mother’s lap when she is busy mending some old tunic, and he says, I love you. 

The day that Balin comes to start Kili’s lessons, she gives her son a gift – a square of silver on a fine chain, embossed with two neat runes. 

‘What does it say?’ he asks Balin at the end of their first lesson. The old dwarf examines it for a moment, and then smiles. 

‘You’ll read it for yourself soon.’

Life, his mother wrote for him. And: the world.


End file.
